


Seek to Hold the Wind

by lastdream



Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Failure, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Sexual Frustration, guys I took this video game way too seriously, sexless relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastdream/pseuds/lastdream
Summary: Asking Tony out didn't exactly go according to Steve's plan, but that wasn't any reason to give up on their friendship. Steve wouldn't make any assumptions about Tony's feelings, Tony wouldn't keep any secrets, and no matter how much magic came to the Academy, none of it would affect their relationship, no matter what form that relationship took. Right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was planning to ignore the Doctor Strange event and go on with my life, but... guys... Tony got a _wizard costume_. And there were _tentacles_. And I have no willpower. Honestly, I thought this story was going to be crack, but it turned out to be... not that. There are about 1000% more feelings than expected :P

As Halloween passed, so did the urge to howl at the moon, rub up against everyone—well, not _everyone_ —and catch flying objects in his jaws. The fur sank back into Steve’s skin as though it had never been there in the first place. The teeth stuck around a little longer, sharp and unwieldy in his human-sized mouth, but eventually those melted away too, and Steve flashed himself a wide grin in the mirror to check that everything was in its proper place.

And, well, there was a little bit of vanity there too. Just a little. Steve had a nice smile, he’d been told. Very handsome. He broadened it hopefully, just slightly, and watched as his face took on a strained quality, like someone had tugged at the corners of his mouth. Ugh. That wouldn’t do at _all_. Steve dropped the smile altogether and started from scratch, trying to get his expression to look right, trying not to admit that his flat, hairless face felt sort of out of place after a month with a furry snout. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? Tony always had a nice smile, always the right mixture of wicked and charming and just a little arrogant, just enough to distract from the vulnerability in his eyes. Steve—well, Steve could never manage a smile like _that_ , but he could be charming. Handsome. He tried again, and it looked… good enough, he figured. If he stood here all day smiling at himself in a mirror he’d never be able to get out and do what he’d planned.

Steve took one last glance to straighten his jacket and then left the bathroom. He could do this. He was Captain America, and he wasn’t even half wolf anymore. He could do anything. Including maybe, possibly, work up the courage to ask Tony Stark on a date. Tony was just a friend, but if Steve could like Tony more than that, _differently_ than that, then Tony could like him back. It was possible, at least. Tony… well, he dated a lot of people, right? He’d gone out for drinks and dancing with Jan, and Pepper, and Brian too, so maybe he’d be willing to add Steve to the list, at least once? Steve had no real desire to be let down gently, but it could be worse.

Yeah, they could still be making armies of robots and borrowed SHIELD agents to play out the stupidest grudge in history, Steve snorted to himself. Much worse.

But no, it wouldn’t do any good to work himself up over past mistakes. They’d compromised, gotten past that. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was here and now, where Steve would maybe, finally, stop talking to himself and just go out and _ask Tony_. 

Here and now, Steve thought numbly as he stepped out the door of the dorm, where the Academy was under attack. Again.

 

*

 

After a couple of days, Steve figured out that he wasn't needed. Well, maybe that was a little more bitter than was fair. Steve could help the way he always could; he could gather materials and carry out chores and go to classes, make sure the Academy kept running smoothly. Basically, he could keep an eye on the home front while other people took care of the _real_ work of fending off the attack—and by other people he meant Strange, because apparently only the new kid, the one with the frosted hair and the ridiculous scarf and the peach fuzz like he was trying to imitate Tony, had the power to stop the evil floating dimensional portal with tentacles coming out of it. It was exactly the kind of thing that had driven Steve to fight in the first place, that _you’ll find your own job but let the big men take care of this_ attitude, and it was difficult for Steve to accept. He _knew_ it wasn’t about him, really; it was that this was a magical threat, and for all his gifts and skills Steve had to admit that he didn’t know the first thing about magic. It still grated, though.

Then Natasha walked by with wings and tentacles of her own, and there was something in the look of her, or maybe the feel of looking at her, that made Steve’s brain hurt, and he decided maybe he didn’t want to have what it took to deal with this threat, after all. 

And hey, Tony would be free for a while, right? Tony was a scientist through and through, and magic was practically a dirty word in his book. Worse than a dirty word, probably, given the way Tony’s mouth tended to run. Though Steve felt kind of bad for thinking it, there probably wouldn’t be much need for Tony’s talents here, either. They could spend some time together. 

Maybe, just maybe, Steve could ask him out now. It was hardly an ideal time, but—well, it never was. If it wasn’t an evil sky portal, it was a fiery hell dimension or a crashed spaceship or the sudden appearance of a small, perpetually twilit urban zone full of petty crime. He pulled out his phone, which was a present from Tony, actually, a customized improvement on the latest model Starkphone. It made Steve just a little fluttery in the chest region every time he used it, just thinking about the sweet generosity of the man who’d given it to him, even before they properly knew each other. It took Steve two tries to dial, which was just embarrassing, but eventually he heard the dial tone and he very nearly held his breath while he waited for Tony to pick up.

“So I’m not a werewolf anymore,” Steve blurted as soon as the phone connected.

“Congratulations?” Tony said after a moment, sounding baffled. Steve felt himself go bright pink and was briefly, intensely glad that Tony couldn’t see him. He did his best to forge on as though all of this was completely normal. He could do this.

“And I was wondering whether you wanted to do lunch or something, to celebrate that?” It was just lunch, he told himself, quelling his nerves. He and Tony did that all the time, so there was no reason to get worked up over it this time. None at all. Just an ordinary lunch between friends, right up until the moment it wasn’t. Because Steve was going to ask this time, he _was_. 

“I, uh…” Tony said slowly, and it sounded like he was leaning away from the phone for a second. From the sounds on the other end, he might’ve been in his workshop in the tower, or else Pym’s lab. Steve hoped it wasn’t the latter; Tony had been electrocuted there one too many times for his taste. “Well, I’m pretty busy today, but sure, why not, let’s do lunch. I’ll get out of here for an hour or so. Club A? I just updated the robots and now they can make a pretty mean sandwich.”

“That sounds nice,” Steve said, hoping his voice sounded normal around the dryness of his throat and the flip-flopping of his stomach.

“Alright, great, see you then?”

“Sure, see you!” Steve answered, probably too eagerly. 

It was only after the phone call disconnected that Steve thought to wonder exactly _what_ Tony was busy with. Strange and his friends were taking care of all of the evil zealot and portal stuff, weren’t they? Maybe Tony was just helping them out; he _was_ the type to go above and beyond in helping people, even if it wasn’t his forte. That was probably it.

 

*

 

Or maybe Tony had taken up sorcery himself, Steve reflected faintly when Tony showed up for lunch dressed in what seemed to be Iron Man-themed Merlin cosplay. That… was looking like a definite possibility right about now.

“Tony?” Steve asked, trying not to sound _offensively_ shocked, but probably not hiding that he was shocked all the same. “What are you…?” He was surprised to see a delicate, warm-looking flush creeping up underneath the silver of Tony’s fake beard. Embarrassment was a strange look on Tony Stark, but a good one, Steve had to admit. Everything was a good look on Tony, which was kind of unfair.

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said cheerfully, refusing to acknowledge anything strange about the way he was dressed. He did take the hat and beard off as he sat down at the stool beside Steve, though, and Steve felt the bizarre and powerful urge to run his fingers through Tony’s artfully slicked-back hair to see how disheveled it would get.

Of course, that would just be a good look on Tony, too, which would kind of defeat the object.

“So you’re helping Strange?” Steve said, trying for Tony’s sake to keep up the pretense that this was normal. 

“Less than I hoped I would when I started on my new designs, since it turns out there actually is a difference between science and _magic_ ,” he said, scorning the last word, “thank you so very much mister Arthur C. Clarke, but yeah, I’m doing my part. So how’ve you been?” It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, and it backfired on Tony when it just made Steve consider what he’d said even more closely.

“You mean the costume came before the magic?” Steve said, eyebrows going up, and further still when Tony’s flush deepened.

“Well you don’t see Strange dressed like this,” Tony said, but the lightness in his voice sounded forced; Steve was touching a nerve, here. Making the embarrassment worse. And as good as Tony was at playing it off, he really did hate to be laughed at by people who mattered to him—a thought that made Steve’s insides flutter with warmth even as he conceded and reached for a new topic.

“No, Strange’s clothes are much worse,” Steve joked, and the sudden heaviness of the atmosphere lifted all at once, as though it had never been. Lunch after that was easy and light, full of the friendly jokes and warm camaraderie that Steve had been missing these last few days as everyone got used to this most recent siege of the Academy. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought his presence was doing Tony some good as well. If nothing else it got him out of his laboratory for an hour and a half; he could even claim it was for science, testing the new sandwich-making programming on the club’s robots. The sandwiches were pretty good, if Steve said so himself, but then, Steve liked pretty much anything with calories.

After a few sandwiches and an hour of lighthearted conversation, they were both pretty relaxed, and Steve, well. Steve was starting to feel brave. It helped that the club was mostly empty at this time of day; there were only a few students hanging around for lunch instead of taking the longer trip out into the city, and Kamala was over at the pool table. She’d probably be writing fanfiction about them if she noticed, but no one else would care, and in that moment, neither did Steve.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said abruptly, just as Tony polished off the tail end of his sandwich. “You want to go dance?” Tony’s eyes widened a little and he choked audibly, groping for his soda can to get the last bite down while Steve tried to parse his reaction. Was that a negative response to Steve’s romantic overture, or maybe just surprise? Did Tony even read it as romantic? Steve had danced with Natasha after all, and _Amora_ , and it wasn’t like he was about to go asking either of them out anytime soon. He tried not to look too anxious as he waited for Tony to set down his can and answer.

“A year ago, I would’ve been shocked that Captain America dances at all, but you and Sam both spend like eight hours on the dance floor at a time, so maybe it is a Cap thing,” Tony said finally, with a little crooked smile. His expression was unreadable, but at least it didn’t look displeased, Steve thought. 

“It is not eight hours!” he protested, though it was more by rote than anything.

"Sure it’s not,” Tony drawled, uneven smile still firmly in place. He shifted and spun around on his barstool, pushing his empty plate toward the robot bussing the bar in the same motion, and a little shiver of anticipation went down Steve’s spine.

And Steve knew that this didn’t really count as fulfilling his objective for the day, not until he knew that Tony knew that this was meant to be romantic, not until Tony had given him a clear answer one way or the other, but when Tony stood up and started heading over to the dance floor, he decided—the hell with it. He was going to dance with Tony and he was going to enjoy it, and he could make sure to ask Tony out for a proper date later.

Steve started out with what he knew—not because he didn’t know any other dances, _Sam_ , but because he could do the Charleston in his sleep by now, and what he really wanted was to watch Tony. Tony was really something, anywhere and everywhere, but the way he moved when he danced was enough to make Steve’s mouth go dry, all sinuous grace and smooth movements that made his body look elegant and mouthwatering at the same time. Even the robes that had looked so ridiculous an hour ago were transformed by the sheer power of Tony in motion; Steve caught the word _regal_ floating across his mind. While Tony’s armor and craftsmanship were precise to nanometers, his dancing was something else entirely, unrestrained and fluid and creative in a whole different way. He looked free, and he looked _good_.

“Hey, c’mere old man,” Tony said suddenly, not stopping his movements. The music wasn’t too loud even over here on the dance floor, and so neither was Tony’s voice, but it seemed to echo in Steve’s skull all the same, bouncing around and making him wonder, making him _hope_. When Steve got close Tony’s hands came up to his shoulders, guiding him in until he was only a few small inches away from Tony’s body, and he could almost feel the heat coming off of him. That crooked smile was wider now, pleased and just a little timid as he said, “Aren’t you going to dance _with_ me?”

“You got it,” Steve answered, and his voice came out low and rough, intimate. He wanted to clear his throat, but then they were already moving.

And, well, Steve wasn’t a very good dancer most of the time, he knew that, but he did have very precise combat reflexes, and Tony was a force of nature. Steve might not be able to match him, but he could sure as hell keep up, shifting and twisting out of Tony’s way, angling his body into the spaces Tony left for him. Before long the footwork felt easy, natural, and they were moving _together_ , so close and yet never quite touching, in sync as they danced just as well as when they fought. There was a wide open smile growing on Steve’s face, and he didn’t stop it, just reveled in the closeness of their bodies and the brightness of Tony’s eyes. Tony’s expression looked like he moved: relaxed, pleased, _free_. He looked happy. 

Tony’s movements brought him in close to Steve’s body, closer than before, so close that his breath washed over Steve’s face, and all at once Steve’s rhythm faltered. His leg got in Tony’s way and tripped him up, but his hands were gripping at Tony’s waist almost before he started to fall. The contact shocked them both into stillness, neither of them moving except to breathe. To share breath. Tony was so close and so hot under Steve’s hands and his muscles trembled minutely. The touch of his body felt like fire, like pure electricity going down Steve’s spine. 

For a moment, looking into the brightness of Tony’s eyes, Steve was utterly certain that Tony knew how he felt, that Tony felt the same. It felt obvious, like the color of the sky or the warmth of the sun. He leaned in slowly, wanting to taste the source of that sweet breath—

Tony turned aside at the last moment and Steve’s lips brushed over his flushed cheek instead, feeling the heat of his face even as a ball of ice dropped into his stomach. His hands dropped Tony automatically, but not carelessly, setting him back on his feet.

“I—I’m sorry,” said Steve tonelessly. “I thought for a second you wanted—but I know—I’m sorry.” There wasn’t enough air in the room.

“No, it’s not, it’s not your fault,” Tony said quickly. He sounded upset, but of course he did; his friend, his very good, close friend had just tried to kiss him out of nowhere, assuming that Tony wanted him just because they had danced together. Steve felt lower than his shoes. People assumed things, sexual things, about Tony all the time, and Tony had probably thought he was safe from that, with Steve. Old man Steve, platonic friend Steve. Open-minded never-judging Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again. “I won’t…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. There probably wasn’t a right way to smooth this over, a way to put it behind them so that they could still be friends as they had before. Had he ruined everything, opening a door that had been better off shut?

“I _can’t_ ,” Tony burst out. “Please don’t blame yourself, I just—I can’t.”

There was the sound of jet boots kicking on, and then Tony was gone.

 

*

 

Steve didn’t see Tony for a while, after that. Tony wasn’t avoiding him, or at least not very much, he didn’t think. He was just helping Strange fight the various enemies who breached the Academy but then mostly stood around on the quad wreaking minor havoc. At least, Steve hoped that was all it was. He would understand if Tony didn’t want to spend time with him, after what he had tried to do, but the idea still hurt. Tony was a good friend, and didn’t know what he’d do if he lost him. 

He spent most of his time at the library, studying recent history and battle tactics, for all that neither one would be useful in the fight against the ancient mystical beings attacking the Academy. When that failed to take his mind off of things, he went down to the still-haunted Stark Mansion and didn’t think too hard about whether the calm he felt there was because it was familiar to the lingering bits of werewolf inside him, or because it was Tony’s house. It just… felt nice, there, and that was all there was to it. End of story.

Sometimes Misty Knight came down to the Mansion, too, with an almost humiliating air of settledness and surety about her for someone so new to the Academy, especially compared with Steve who’d been there for ages. She was a good person, though, and a good friend, and when she talked with Steve she didn’t let him have the pity-parties he’d really come down to the Mansion for. Instead she told him about her cases, showed him that life still went on out there in the city, even when the Academy seemed to stop and fall into an eternal cycle of attack after attack. Sometimes, Steve’s insight was even helpful, as a second pair of eyes, and the feeling of being useful was more cathartic than Steve was willing to admit.

Once in a while Misty was willing to indulge Steve and talk about Tony, or rather his crush on Tony—which was nice, because it turned out she was one of the few who had never bought into Tony’s narcissist genius act—but mostly she wasn’t, and that was even better.

 

*

 

Then, in the middle of the night, Tony showed up at Steve’s door. His knock was hesitant and quiet, but it was enough to wake Steve from his light, restless sleep. As Steve opened the door, confusion over who would show up at his door at this time of night was quickly replaced with a different sort of feeling—still confused, but also sort of elated that Tony had been the one to seek him out first. He thought he would’ve felt like he was forcing his friendship on Tony if he’d had to go to Tony first, after what happened. Under normal circumstances, he’d invite Tony in to talk about whatever it was he’d come for, or he’d go out with Tony to talk in the hall or one of the study rooms, but things felt different now, and Steve wasn’t sure what to do or say.

For a long moment, Steve and Tony just looked at each other across the threshold of Steve’s dorm room like it was an interminable gulf and not just a few feet of space. Then Tony sighed, and the sound was so weary, so wrong coming from Tony who was always full energy, that Steve gave in instantly.

“Hey, Tony, come on in,” he said, and Tony opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then he closed it and just stepped inside. Steve turned on the smaller lamp next to his desk, lighting the room just enough to see, but not enough to wake Sam, still sound asleep on the other bed. He saw Tony’s eyes flick that direction, and he said, “Don’t worry about him, he’s a heavy sleeper. What do you need?”

“I…“ Tony began, but the rest of the sentence seemed to get lost on the way to his mouth. Steve was abruptly aware of how vulnerable he looked there, bare of armor except for his right gauntlet and with the arc reactor shining clearly through his thin black t-shirt.

“Tony?” he said gently.

There was another endless moment of silence, and then Tony darted forwards, throwing his arms around Steve. The hug was as fierce as it was brief, Tony gripping tightly at Steve’s middle and burying his face in his shoulder almost desperately, drawing back before Steve could get his own arms up to reciprocate. 

“I missed you,” Tony said quietly. There was something tentative in his face, like he was gearing up to say something big. “You’re my best friend, I had to say no, but it’s not because I don’t _like_ you. I—I want to try to fix this, to tell you why—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, and he fought to put his words in order, to make Tony understand. It was awkward laying his feelings out like this, baring his heart again after what happened the last time he tried, but for Tony… He couldn’t let him go on thinking that Steve’s friendship was conditional on _anything_ , much less romance. Whatever he had to do to assure Tony of that would be worth it. “You’re my best friend, too, you know. I’m sorry for what happened, and I really want you to be able to be… comfortable with me, I guess. Anything you need, anything you _want_ from me—standing offer. I’ll get it right this time.”

Steve could tell the moment the words left his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing; Tony’s open, tentative expression shut down so hard and fast that Steve almost flinched away, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“You don’t understand, I—“ Tony sucked in a sharp breath and let it out, running the fingers of his bare hand through his hair roughly. “I really can’t deal with that kind of frustration right now.”

Okay. Okay. Steve was just trying to make it up to Tony, that’s all it was, so it was okay if Tony was—frustrated with him. He’d messed up, and Tony was allowed to feel that way about him. Steve swallowed hard and tried to push it back, to be a good friend. A good friend would help Tony with his problems, instead of trying to make them about himself and how they made _him_ feel. “Okay,” he said aloud, like it would help.

“Christ, Steve, not like that,” Tony hissed. “I didn’t mean that _you’re_ —this was a bad idea. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Tony, wait!” The cry was much too loud in the small room, and they both froze dead still as Sam shifted and rolled over in bed before beginning to snore gently again. “Tony, what’s wrong?” he whispered.

“I just missed you is all,” Tony said stubbornly, but his eyes were glittering in the light of the lamp and his own arc reactor, so wide and bright, bright _, bright_ that Steve didn’t know what to think. His hand was reaching out for Tony of its own accord, as though just by touching him he could understand what was going on in that genius brain of his, could calm him, tell him there was nothing to fear from Steve, nothing Steve wouldn’t do to fix whatever was wrong. He stopped it, forced his arm back down by his side, because that was the last thing Tony needed right now. “Let’s do lunch,” Tony said, with forced calm.

“If that’s what you—“

“I want to.”

Steve watched Tony leave with the feeling that he had just made everything much worse.

 

*

 

Lunch wasn’t much better. Steve tried to start off by apologizing, getting the previous night out of the way and making it clear that he wasn’t going to try anything again, but Tony just shut him down.

“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? Nothing’s your fault, and if you say sorry again I’m gonna have an aneurysm,” he insisted, when Steve attempted a third apology.

“I’m sorr—I, yes, okay. Got it. So, uh…” Steve trailed off, casting about for a topic. The sheer awkwardness in the air was so thick Steve thought he ought to be able to hit it with his shield, but he had no such luck. Instead, he just had to sit there at his barstool and wait in silence for Tony to put him out of his misery.

"What have you been up to, these last few days?” Tony said finally. It wasn’t much, but Steve breathed an explosive sigh of relief and started talking about how his classes were going, what he’d learned in the library, and eventually the friendship he’d been striking up with Misty Knight. It turned out that last was a very good thing to bring up to Tony—he’d built her bionic right arm, after all, and he’d gotten to know her pretty well during maintenance. That kept them going for a while, until— “So how did you meet her?”

“Um,” Steve said eloquently. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t a good topic for Tony, but he couldn’t well evade it now. “Down at the Mansion, actually, she says it’s a good place to think.” Tony’s lips thinned a little at the mention of his childhood home, but he actually seemed to like it better now that it was a decrepit, haunted addition to the Academy campus, and the expression passed quickly, changed for something a little more closed than before, but at least not overtly upset.

"Why were _you_ down there?” Tony asked. Steve could feel himself coloring, and the more his flush deepened, the more Tony’s expression of interest grew. It bordered on anxiety, actually, and Steve wished he knew why, wished Tony would let him help. “Oh, now you have to tell me, c’mon, Steve. It can’t be that bad.” It could, if he admitted he went there because it made him feel close to Tony, so Steve went with the less bad option.

“I’m not a werewolf anymore,” he prefaced, just to be sure that they were clear on that point.

“See, it’s talk like that that casts doubt, big guy,” Tony said with a smirk. His voice still seemed kind of tight, though, like he was waiting for some kind of awful secret. Well, another one—Steve had already dropped his biggest bomb when he nearly kissed Tony on the dance floor. He winced and continued quickly, hoping to reassure Tony that it wasn’t anything like that again.

“It’s just that, well, I think part of me remembers being one,” he explained. “And when I was, I spent a lot of time down there—“

“Howling at the moon,” Tony interjected.

“ _Yes_ , Tony—and just prowling around and getting used to the smells and, you know, other werewolf-y things. You know.”

“I’m not sure I do know.”

“Anyway, the point is, a lot of time was spent there. So now it’s just kind of comforting, I guess. Familiar.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “I know it’s dumb—“

“It’s not dumb,” Tony said. The flippant posture was lost altogether, and he leaned forward earnestly. “I get it, really I do. I mean, I wasn’t a werewolf, but. Yeah. I get it.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said sincerely. All at once he realized how close together they had come in the last few moments, how wide Tony’s eyes were, how soft his lips looked, how Steve could smell the soda on his breath and how the urge to taste it for himself had crept up into the back of his throat. It was intoxicating and _dangerous_ , and Tony jerked away, startling Steve into doing the same. He hoped his infatuation hadn’t been showing as clearly on his face as he feared. Tony was a good friend, and Steve wouldn’t ruin that. He _wouldn’t_.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” Tony said, his voice rough with surprise and something else that was probably discomfort. Regret woke up and clawed at Steve’s stomach as Tony took a few hasty swallows of soda, pointedly not looking at Steve. “So, you seen anything else down there besides dilapidated house and bionic detective?”

“Uh, not really, no,” Steve answered, but that topic was played out, and getting back into it was just an exercise in futility. Tony looked sort of relieved as he pivoted the question to a new topic, something inane that Steve didn’t remember when he went down to the firing range after lunch in hopes that slinging his shield around would do some good clearing his head.

He had to do better. He’d promised himself that he would be perfectly friendly to Tony, friendly and nothing more. Tony was just so kind and sweet and funny, and, frankly, gorgeous as hell, and it was so _hard_ not letting himself treat him as anything more than a good friend. It was hard, but he’d learn; he _had_ to. 

At least he’d get plenty of practice, if Tony let him stick around.

 

*

 

Steve was returning from the SHIELD tower when he saw Tony’s new outfit in action for the first time. He had just finished up a meeting with Principal Fury in the SHIELD headquarters and was nursing a slight headache as a result, but he doubted even a migraine would’ve prevented him from noticing the bang and the bright flash of light as he came up on the quad. This wasn’t altogether unusual, but the Academy _was_ under attack, so Steve stopped to get a better look instead of going straight to his bed for a much-needed nap.

In the center of the quad there was something that Steve could only describe as a tentacle monster—and hey, that was new—and it was surrounded by a guard, who were vanishing one by one as Stephen Strange’s spells took effect, each with a loud sound and a flash. Steve didn’t know much about magic, but the bright colors of the flashes made him wonder whether it wasn’t just a touch flashier than was actually necessary. Then the guards were gone, and the tentacle monster was left undefended, and Steve couldn’t have taken his eyes off if he’d tried. Tony, dressed once again in his wizard’s robes and hat, stepped up to the monster without even the smallest sign of fear in his posture. Steve’s first instinct was to call out to him, to run up and unsling his shield to protect him, but then Tony raised his hands, and Steve learned that Tony didn’t need protecting, not even a little bit.

Tony blasted the monster twice with his repulsor gauntlet, cocky little bursts of energy to get its attention, and he hit it twice more as it turned to face him in a whirl of singed tentacles. A could of angry-looking purple energy formed around the monster as it thrashed and smoked. The energy coalesced into a beam and blasted straight towards Tony, but when it hit Tony’s long red and gold robes, it just… wasn’t. Absorbed, or nullified, maybe.

Steve’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized the robes were an actual _armor_ ; he’d just thought they were decorative. He watched more closely, unconsciously rocking up onto the balls of his feet with anticipation, as Tony and the monster continued to trade blows. The way Tony moved in the fight was not unlike the way he moved on the dance floor, though Steve felt guilty making the comparison, guilty thinking about that at all when he’d been so directly turned down—but Tony _was_ graceful, powerful in the way he moved, no matter where or when. He could be elegant shambling out of bed and reaching for his first cup of coffee, so here, wrapped in the strength of armor and facing off against an enemy, it was no trouble at all for Steve to find him beautiful.

After a minute, one of Tony’s repulsor blasts tossed the monster back, head over heels—though Steve couldn’t be sure that the monster had either of those—and Tony stood over it with satisfaction on his face. It wasn't the overwrought look of brazen smugness that he put on for strangers, but rather the honest expression of effort and accomplishment he only got when he’d really worked for something. It looked good.

“Nice work, Avenger!” Steve called, and Tony’s head whipped around like he hadn’t noticed Steve was there. Well, maybe he hadn’t, he’d looked pretty focused. Steve smiled at him and waved, letting him see just how proud Steve was of what he’d done. Tony liked approval, he knew, and Steve, well, he _really_ liked giving it. Especially to Tony.

Tony smiled back, flush with adrenaline equally proud for the space of a moment, and then he looked down like he was embarrassed and set about clearing away the unconscious monster—not a necessary task, really, since it would be awake and back to terrorize the quad in under an hour, but something that would occupy Tony. That stung, a little, though Steve didn’t let it show as he continued on his previous path to the dorm to get some rest for his headache. He figured Tony was feeling just as awkward about Steve as Steve was about him, but they’d get over it in a few days, if they just spent more time together as ordinary, platonic friends.

Or they wouldn’t. Steve didn’t even let himself consider that option.

 

*

 

Steve set a mission for himself the next day: prove to Tony that he could control himself. 

So at the usual time of day, Steve gathered up a pencil and a sketchbook and headed over to Stark Tower. Tony gave him a long, unreadable look as he stood at the door of the workshop and waited to be let in, but ultimately Steve was allowed to take up his customary place on the spare table at the back of the workshop. He settled in and started sketching immediately, but he wasn’t feeling particularly inspired, so the shapes on the page were perfunctory, a rough outline that might eventually become one of Tony’s learning bots. 

He knew better than to try to draw Tony right now, though it was as tempting as ever.

Tony was down to his black t-shirt again as he worked on armor upgrades, his hair sticking up and grease streaking the lean muscles of his arms, clinging to the pads of his fingers. His jeans, as always, were sinfully tight and showed exactly how shapely his legs were as he stretched up to get at the inside of the chestpiece hanging from the ceiling. Though Tony was tenser today than usual, some things held constant, it seemed. In his workshop, where he moved freely and hummed absently and showed off the very depths of his genius in holograms and metal, Tony was at his most beautiful; he was the most _himself_ he ever was.

Steve had always been one to throw himself into the deep end. If he could resist Tony here, he could resist him anywhere. He only hoped Tony would understand that, too.

“Hey, J, could you throw up the specs I was working on this morning?” Tony asked, leaning back down out of the armor for a moment. Jarvis immediately projected a wireframe of blue light into the air beside the armor, and Tony stretched and twisted it until it had the same size and shape as the armor circuits, and then switched it over to the holoprojector he’d already put inside the armor, matching it up with its physical counterpart. He kept murmuring to Jarvis as he dragged a soldering gun toward himself, and Steve had the strongest urge to draw the reach of his sturdy, beautiful fingers, but he stopped his pencil before it could start.

Nope, he was going to draw Tony’s bot, and nothing else. It was a little jarring shifting his focus away from the smooth, organic shapes of Tony’s’ body and over to the angular lines of the bot, but Steve had a mission. 

He was shading in the reflective metal of the bot’s casing an hour later when he heard Tony calling his name and his head jerked up automatically.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Do you think you could help me with something?” Tony said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yeah, anything,” Steve answered, and then winced at himself. How much sappier could he get? Ignoring it, he stood up and set his sketchbook down, the nearly finished bot facing up from the open page; now more than ever he wanted to be completely transparent with Tony.

“There’s not a lot of room to maneuver in there; think you could pry a few wires loose for me?” Tony said hopefully, though he sounded more tentative than Steve thought he probably should for a request like that. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t lent him a little super-strength in the workshop before.

“Sure, which wires?” Steve asked, coming over to stand next to Tony.

“Jarvis’ll let you know,” Tony said. A few lines of blue hologram flashed red inside the chassis, and Steve nodded acknowledgement. He leaned up to reach them, but to his surprise, Tony didn’t move out of the way, and his motion brought the two of them within inches of each other. The heat of Tony’s body was _right there_ , but he could handle it, he _could_ , so he just held so still he was barely breathing and wrapped his fingers around the offending wires to yank them from their places. They each took a fairly firm tug, but once he’d gotten them free he stepped out of the way to let Tony reattach them in their new positions. He walked away with a sense of pride in his chest, knowing he’d gotten as close to Tony as he had been on the dance floor, and he hadn’t moved to touch him even a little bit. Mission accomplished, he thought.

It wasn’t until he was returning to his place in the back with his sketchbook—when he caught a satisfied, objective-achieved type look on Tony’s face out of the corner of his eye—that it occurred to him that Tony might have been testing his restraint, too. Wondering if he could control himself now that his feelings for Tony were known between them. That thought hurt, but Steve did understand. He’d gone in there hoping to prove just the same thing, after all. Whatever Tony needed to feel reassured about Steve’s intentions for him, for their friendship, Steve was willing to do it for him.

Tony didn’t exactly relax after that, at least not completely, but he did start to sing under his breath as he worked. Steve exhaled a long, relieved breath as he took his seat again, and hoped that things would get better between them then.

 

*

 

A few days later, Tony showed up at Steve’s door again. It was the middle of the day this time, and Steve’s first thought was that he wouldn’t have to worry about bothering Sam—or garnering awkward questions from Sam—who was out logging airtime with his new wings. 

His second thought was to question what it said about him that he was relieved that his roommate was out of the way when his best friend, and coincidentally the guy he liked, came by.

His third thought was to shove all of those thoughts away and regret ever having let himself get pulled into such a petty train of thought in the first place because Tony was hurt, _oh God, Tony was hurt_ , he needed help and Steve had just stood there thinking about his own self image when _Tony was hurt_. It made his stomach turn over uncomfortably.

"Hey, Steve,” Tony slurred, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

“Tony, what happened?” Steve demanded, reaching out to get an arm around Tony’s waist and help him inside. He ended up taking what felt like almost half of Tony’s staggering weight, and his gut twisted again. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just peachy, Cap, you know me,” Tony said, tilting his head to give Steve a rather punch-drunk smile. Steve wasn’t sure whether he ought to be relieved that it was due to a probable concussion rather than alcohol. There were abrasions on the side of Tony’s face and bruising on what Steve could see of his left side, and he was breathing in that careful way that meant that Steve would probably have to at least check on his ribs.

“Yeah, Tony, I do know you,” Steve sighed. He eased Tony down to sit on his bed and then headed into the tiny en-suite bathroom to grab his first aid kit—or Sam’s first aid kit, rather; Steve knew his tendency to leave injuries to the serum and hope for the best was unhealthy.

When Steve turned to head back over to the bed with the kit, his body froze in place of its own accord; Tony had already stripped his own shirt off. Half of his brain was relieved, seeing that the injuries really weren’t as bad as he’d feared, but the other half was stuck in a loop of _no, not bad at all_ , and he could feel his face flaming. Clearing his throat in hopes that it would clear his head too, Steve forged on toward Tony as though he hadn’t noticed a thing. He made himself focus on the injuries, which really did need seeing to. It didn’t take long to establish that his ribs were mostly okay, just bruised, but the surface bruises took a little more delicacy. Steve worked the ointment into them as gently as he possibly could, but he still felt Tony’s minute flinches and gasps under his fingers when he pressed too hard on the places where the surface bruising ran over the bruises on his ribs.

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, keeping his eyes down so he wouldn’t see whatever expression was on Tony’s face as he worked—and so Tony wouldn't see his, which was surely far too tender. He had already finished with all the visible bruising on Tony’s arm and side and was moving up to his abraded face by the time Tony answered, so he was perfectly in position to see the contemptuous twist to his mouth.

“Kaecilius.”

“The guy floating in front of the tentacle portal?” Steve said absently, getting a rag and saline from Sam’s well-stocked kit to flush the blood and gravel from Tony’s scraped cheek.

"He’s not floating anymore,” Tony said. “We finally get rid of the tentacle monster, and hey, there’s another guy to take his place.” The words were lighthearted, but Tony’s voice was anything but; he sounded solemn, and verging on  _scared_. It wasn’t a tone Steve usually heard from him, and it made him almost more anxious than a whole slew of bruising had done.

“Hold still,” Steve instructed him, and held the rag under the curve of his jaw to catch the saline so it didn’t run all down his side when Steve started to rinse the scrape. Tony hissed as the cool saline made contact with the pinkness exposed where his skin was broken, but he didn’t move, even to talk, until Steve was done and withdrew the wet, pink-tinged rag. The injury was still bleeding, but sluggishly, and the dirt was gone as far as Steve could see. Ideally Tony should’ve gone to one of the city’s hospitals for this, but Steve knew he wouldn’t so he had to do the best he could on his own. He leaned back over to the kit to get out antibiotic ointment and gauze.

“He didn’t even move,” Tony whispered.

"What?” Steve froze with his hands on the medical supplies and looked back up at Tony’s face. He was looking off at the other side of the room, unseeing, but his expression looked as raw and exposed as the broken skin on his cheek.

“He just twisted his fingers and then the whole world was upside down. I couldn’t—there was nothing I could do, Steve. I wasn’t strong enough, I couldn’t…” Tony licked his lips, still staring into space, and his gauntleted fingers shook and clicked against the bedframe. “I fly all the time, but when he did… whatever he did… I just fell.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. There was an inane revelation about the source of the gravel in Tony’s abrasion on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, knowing it wouldn’t help anything. Instead he just moved up to sit beside Tony again and dabbed the antibiotic cream onto the raw skin and pressed the rectangle of gauze over it, putting gentle pressure on it to convince the broken skin to clot. After a minute, he taped the gauze in place and took his hand off, reluctantly, because he didn’t think his hand on Tony’s face would be much of a comfort to anyone but himself in this situation.

“Thanks,” Tony said quietly, moving to stand. 

“Wait,” said Steve. He still hadn’t answered, and he didn’t want Tony to go away still thinking that he hadn’t been good enough, or that he’d done something wrong, or whatever it was he’d been thinking. Steve’s hand trembled a little as he raised it to press against Tony’s naked back, between his shoulder blades, but Tony just slumped into the motion and rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, so he figured it was allowed. “We all get knocked down sometimes, you know,” Steve told him gently. “I do, and Natasha does, and Jan does, and Loki does, too, to everyone’s great relief.” Tony laughed quietly, more a huff of humid breath against Steve’s shirt than anything, but it was good to hear all the same.

“I’d knock him down myself if I thought it’d make him more bearable,” he agreed.

“And you know what?” Steve asked him, letting his voice turn playful.

“What?” Tony asked. _Okay, I’ll bite_ , his tone said.

“You know, I heard—now don’t quote me on this, but I _heard_ ,” Steve said, dragging it out, “that even Iron Man has to take his knocks just like anybody else. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Tony joked, his laugh just a little wet. “Say it ain’t so.”

“It’s what I hear,” Steve insisted. Then he dropped his voice a little, dared to bring his free hand up to card through Tony’s hair for just a moment. It was an indulgence on his part, but it made Tony sigh, so he kept it up, stroked once or twice more. “I’ll always be here to patch you up, Shellhead,” he murmured. The two of them were so close together that his lips brushed Tony’s hair when he spoke and the rich scent of him was filling his lungs with every breath. It felt… comfortable, so sweet it almost transcended his more physical wants, being so near the person he liked so much, but the moment didn’t last.

Something about it was just one straw too many for Tony, and suddenly he was up and scrambling to throw his shirt back on, leaving Steve's side cold where Tony’s body heat had been. A sick feeling of regret squeezed at Steve’s heart as he watched Tony hurry away from him like he’d been burned.

“I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine, don’t—just don’t.” Tony was speaking too quickly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I just, I _can’t_ , right now, I’m sorry, Steve.” He scraped a hand through his own hair as he stood, holding the last of his things. “Thanks for helping me out."

One step forward, two steps back, Steve thought as he left. He dropped his face into his hands.

 

*

 

Tony didn’t let him into the workshop the next day, and Steve couldn’t even pretend to himself that he didn’t know exactly why. He went away feeling hot behind his eyes and wishing he’d never given in to the stupid urge to kiss Tony in the first place.

 

*

 

But Steve was, at heart, an optimist. He refused to mourn their friendship before Tony told him, straight up, that it was over. That would hurt like hell if it happened, he knew, would _wreck_ him, but until such time as it actually occurred, Steve decided that he would continue to carry on as though it had not. Obstinacy, if nothing else, was enough to keep him from giving up hope completely. 

So Steve waited a day, and then called Jarvis on the phone. Jarvis would at least hear him out before avoiding and ignoring him.

“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said as he connected the call. “What can I do for you today, sir?”

Jarvis’ tone was neutral and courteous enough to make Steve wince. God, he must’ve really hurt Tony for _Jarvis_ to be getting snippy on his behalf. Jarvis only ever acted like the computer program he began as when there were strangers or enemies around, and Steve refused to contemplate which category he’d been relegated to after his… misstep.

“Could you tell him I want to have lunch with him, please?” Steve asked, trying not to sound like he was pleading. The backbone in his voice was all stubbornness, though, and it was audible even to his own ears. 

“I’m sorry sir, to whom are you referring?” Jarvis asked, and Steve winced again and gave up on trying to put a good face on it.

“Look, I know things are awkward between me and Tony right now, but I just… I really want to fix it, Jarvis, please,” Steve said. “I know my feelings are… inappropriate for our friendship, but I want to move past that, more than anything. I can’t lose him.”

There was a long, aching silence when the only sound was the pounding of Steve’s own heart; he couldn’t relax even to breathe while he waited for Jarvis’ reply. If Jarvis said no, if he turned Steve away, it would be because he believed that Tony would be happier, healthier, _safer_ , with Steve out of his life, and that might even be worse than hearing it from Tony. To know that a hyper-intelligent, nearly-impartial AI had judged him a _danger_ to the person he cared about most—

“I will inform Sir of your request,” Jarvis said, and Steve breathed out a sigh of relief that was almost a sob.

"Thank you—“

“I will inform him,” Jarvis repeated, “but Sir will make his own decision. I suggest that you have your own meal, at which time Sir will join you, or not join you, as he sees fit.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve said. He wouldn’t mess it up this time. He’d explain everything clearly, and then Tony would understand, and they’d _get past this_. They _would_.

Steve was starting to wonder whether stubbornness was just a synonym for denial.

 

*

 

At noon precisely, Steve gave over beating up the punching bag on the dorm’s rooftop patio, untaped his knuckles, changed into a clean shirt, and walked to Club A. He sat down on a barstool and ordered a sandwich and soda while he waited, hoping beyond hope that Tony would decide to come. There was a speech writing itself out in his head, a disjointed repetition of _I’m sorry_ and _I hope we can still be friends even though I’m really really in like with you_ and _I promise I can get over you just please give me a chance to do it_ and  _you’d be totally within your rights to send me away but please, please don't_ —and whenever he got to the begging stage he made himself stop and start over again in hopes of being more coherent the next time around. His stomach was so tense with nerves that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat.

Instead, Steve downed the first two sandwiches inside of five minutes while his leg all but vibrated in place, bouncing against the stool.

“Uh, hey, Steve,” Tony said from behind him, and Steve jumped so hard he almost fell off the stool altogether. “Sorry to startle you, I didn’t mean—are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Steve said, though even he could hear that his voice was higher and tighter than normal.

“Not what I asked,” Tony said as he slid onto the stool beside Steve, but it was under his breath, so Steve didn’t think he was supposed to answer. Silently, he turned his mess of a “we can still be friends” speech over in his head like a ball of yarn, wondering if there was a tail end anywhere that he could pick up just to start talking, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t immediately swallow his tongue if he tried. Then Tony started talking, formal and awkward, and Steve understood too late that _anywhere_ would’ve been a good place to start. “Jarvis says you have something to talk to me about.”

“I, yeah,” Steve said, equally awkward. “Look, do you want a, a soda, or a sandwich, or—anything? I’ll—“ _I’ll pay_ , he almost said, and then realized what a date-like thing that would be to say and promptly shut his mouth.

“Just say what you want to say, Steve,” Tony said. He sounded… he sounded _exhausted_ , and the gauze was still firmly in place on his left cheek, and Steve felt his heart clench up in a way he was absolutely supposed to be discouraging.

“I know…” Steve started, trying to drag his tangled thread into some kind of order, “I know you’ve been… uncomfortable… around me lately—“

“You could say that,” Tony snorted, and Steve fought the urge to hunch in on himself. He took a deep breath and blinked hard, twice.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he continued, “and I shouldn’t’ve—“

“Stop blaming yourself, I’ve _told you_ ,” Tony burst out, suddenly exasperated. “I’ve told you again and again but you just don’t—“

“But it _is_ my fault, I’m the one who went and—“

“It’s _not_ your fault I can’t control my own damn self, Steve!” Tony shouted. There was a long silence as everyone in the club looked at them at once, and both of them were breathing hard for the endless moments it took for the other students to go back to their own business. “I thought I could resist—after the day in the workshop I was _sure_ I could—but I just—you’re really, absurdly attractive, Steve you have to know that, and I just don’t think I can keep being around you _and_ keep turning you down.”

“What?” Steve just looked at him, stunned, not sure that the words coming out of his mouth made any sense at all.

“I mean, it’s hard to keep pushing you away when I really _do_ want to have sex with you,” Tony said, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“You thought I wanted to have sex with you,” Steve said, stunned. His thoughts were working double time, trying to work that information into the context of the last few weeks and coming up more and more chagrined every moment. Tony had thought—and not just that, Steve had _let Tony think_ —he felt, suddenly and powerfully, that he had failed Tony as a friend. He should have explained himself better, should have _listened_ better. _Uncomfortable_ , Tony had said, just a minute ago—and _of course_ that was a sex thing. Tony would never be that callous with his friends’ feelings. “You really thought I just wanted sex?"

“Is that—is that not—“ Tony looked more than mortified, he looked—he looked _ashamed_ , as though _he_ had done something deeply wrong. As though it were _his_ fault that their relationship had been this strained, awful thing it had been recently. And, well, maybe it was, halfway, but the other half of the fault was all Steve’s, Steve who had started this whole mess in the first place and misunderstood Tony just as badly as Tony had misunderstood him.

“Tony, I wanted to ask you out,” Steve said gently. He hoped very much that he was making things better by baring himself like this, but anything would be better than that look on Tony’s face. “I would—“ he felt his face go hot— “I would very much like to sleep with you at some point, but my, my feelings for you don’t change if you don’t want to or—or can’t. Tony, I—“

“Feelings,” Tony repeated dumbly. There was something like cautious awe in his voice. “Romantic feelings?”

“Very romantic,” Steve assured him.

“You have feelings for me,” Tony said, as though he needed to say it aloud to believe it. Finally, _finally_ , he met Steve’s eyes. “You thought I was _rejecting_ you. No, God no, Steve—I, uh, I have feelings for you, too. I have for… a really long time.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” Steve said. He could feel a boundless, earsplitting grin threatening to take over his face. Tony had feelings for him. Their relationship wasn’t broken after all, Tony had just—understandably, he supposed—mistaken a romantic advance for a sexual one. And then… kept assuming that things were sexual advances. They’d both messed up, but that was okay, they’d cleared it up, they’d be fine. “I like you, you like me, and we’re not going to sleep together. Got it.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tony said. A small, real smile was twitching at the edge of his mouth, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to be happy, and Steve’s heart clenched again. Tony always made things harder than they needed to be for himself.

“That’s it,” Steve said. “If you want this, I mean.”

“I want this,” Tony replied fervently. “You’re not even going to ask me why we can’t have sex?”

“Your reasons are your reasons, I don’t need you to tell me what they are to respect them,” Steve said. Tony was silent for a few moments, chewing on his lip in a way that now, Steve supposed, he was fully allowed to appreciate. 

“But maybe I need to tell you,” Tony said.

 

*

 

They were standing outside the dilapidated Stark Mansion, and things were starting to fall into place. Well, Steve didn’t understand what Tony claimed to be explaining even a little bit—mainly because Tony hadn’t said a word since he’d dragged Steve out of Club A and halfway across campus—but the simple fact that Tony had taken him to the Mansion was important. They’d talked about the Mansion, a week ago, when Steve had brought up Misty Knight, and Tony had looked unaccountably anxious then; he looked the same way now, standing outside the building itself. Steve figured there must be something inside, something he’d missed, that would make Tony make sense.

Steve had been perfectly willing to honor Tony’s no sex requirement indefinitely, and he still was, but the longer Tony’s anxious, secretive silence went on, the more he was starting to think that there was some kind of sinister or painful reason for it. He was happy to give whatever Tony needed from him, but he was very much not happy to let him suffer or hurt himself or—Steve wasn’t sure what, but his imagination had plenty of awful suggestions—for something that wasn’t worth it.

“Magic doesn’t make sense,” Tony burst out suddenly. “It’s not logical, it’s arbitrary and capricious and it doesn’t work the same for everyone. That’s what Strange told me, anyway, and so far it seems like an understatement. I think magic has a sense of irony.”

“I don’t understand,” said Steve, and Tony laughed hysterically.

“Neither do I,” he said. “I don’t understand this hardly at all, isn’t that something? Super-genius super-scientist, that’s me, and I don’t have a clue, Steve. What I know is that there’s some magic in this armor, and that I put it there, but I don’t know how I did it, and I can’t even think too hard about it or it’ll stop working. See, magic works by belief, for me. The more I believe the stronger it gets, as far as I can tell, but it’s… it’s not easy for me. I’m too skeptical, even of things I know.”

“And that’s okay, Tony, that’s part of _you_ , it’s not a flaw—“

“That’s sweet of you, Cap, really it is, but you’re wrong,” Tony said flatly. “If I hadn’t been so skeptical I might’ve realized that you really—that you really _liked_ me two weeks ago.” He colored. “I should’ve trusted you, trusted what I know about you. You’re not the kind of guy to go for a friends-with-benefits thing, and I should’ve believed that about you instead of second-guessing everything. I was doubting you, and I was… well, I was doubting myself, too. I didn’t think anyone as—” he waved his hand vaguely at Steve in general— “as you would really want to be with the asshole rich kid.”

“Of course I don’t want to be with Loki, he and Amora deserve each other.” Steve said with a little smile, enjoying the exasperation on Tony’s face. “But I’m in favor of anything that gets _you_ to understand just how amazing you are.”

“Hey, I know just how great I am!” Tony protested, tilting his jaw up in a comically arrogant move. He probably didn’t realize just how clearly defensive it was to someone who knew him well. Steve just smiled a little more, wishing he knew whether he was allowed to touch Tony, to put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, to make him feel Steve’s confidence in him.

“I don’t think you do,” he said quietly. “Tony, you’re the best person I know.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the compliment, but—“

“The _best_ , Tony.”

Tony looked unsteady, like he didn’t know what to say to that, his eyes going very bright as he looked down and fiddled with the gauntlet on his right hand rather than meet Steve’s eyes.

“Anyway,” Tony said eventually, clearing his throat, “right. Belief is hard for me. So I needed some, uh, specific help.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked him, looking up at the darkened panes of glass of the haunted Mansion, half frosted with age and neglect. Tony tugged his sleeve and started leading him around the side of the house instead.

“Not in there,” he said. “In the back yard. She’s called Friday, as far as I understand her.”

Once they’d stopped next to the Mansion’s back porch, Tony raised armored fingers to his mouth and whistled a clear, piercing note that fluctuated oddly, making Steve think of ciphers and frequencies and coded signals. But a whistle couldn’t be that complicated, could it? You’d have to be as quick-thinking as—well, as Tony, to understand something that complicated at that speed. It had to be Steve’s imagination.

Then, suddenly, it wasn’t so unbelievable that a figment of Steve’s imagination might be real, because there was an honest-to-goodness _unicorn_ bursting out from behind a few bushes and a yellow tree and cantering up to the two of them. It was gleaming white, but not just that—it was _armored_ in red and gold that Steve could easily recognize as Tony’s best work, his most careful. Leave it to Tony Stark to build an armor for a creature that Steve had believed mythical until about eight seconds ago. He had to believe in it now, though, because it was standing right there, plain as day, with a brightness about it that made it look not quite physical, but no less real.

The unicorn—and Steve still couldn’t quite grasp saying that, even in his head—had walked right up to Tony and was now nuzzling affectionately into his chest, horn resting on his shoulder while Tony stroked gentle hands over the creature’s neck and mane.

“Friday, Steve, Steve, Friday,” Tony said as the unicorn drew back to eye Steve skeptically, though not quite disapprovingly. She looked more like she simply hadn’t made a decision about him yet, and was still thinking it over. There was a really shocking amount of emotion on what amounted to a horse’s face, Steve thought, though it was entirely possible that he was projecting. “So, uh, this is why.”

“Why what?” Steve said dumbly. He couldn’t look away from the unicorn’s dark, amused eyes.

“Why we can’t have sex.” Tony was blushing furiously, and the unicorn—Friday—gave a whicker that Steve could have sworn was a laugh.

“I don’t understand,” Steve said.

“Don’t you—don’t you know the myths?” Tony asked incredulously, coloring further when Steve just shook his head. “Unicorns are supposed to—and do, apparently—only like, well… virgins. Can only communicate with them, anyway. I told you, magic is weird.”

“You’re—“

“Yeah.” Tony wasn’t looking at Steve at all anymore, but Steve could still see the flush on the back of his neck, a hot red color over tense muscles, like he was embarrassed, like he thought it was something to be ashamed of. Like he thought _Steve_ thought it was something to be ashamed of. And really, Steve had only been surprised, since Tony always talked like—

Well, that would explain it. Of course he would talk like that, if he thought _not_ talking like that would be somehow disgraceful.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Tony,” Steve said, finally getting over himself and putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder blade. If it weren’t okay, Tony would tell him. “Not a thing.”

“It’s—childish and immature. Weak. If you can’t get a girl or—or a guy, by the time you’re my age, it’s because you can’t. Because something’s wrong with you, and they can see it. Don’t stick your dick in crazy, you know.” The words were spilling from Tony’s lips like he couldn’t stop them. They didn’t sound like Tony’s words; they sounded like things he’d been told, things he’d been taught to believe about himself.

“No offense, Tony—but that’s bullshit. All of it,” Steve told him. He looked at Friday pointedly, who was resting her horn on Tony’s shoulder again. Either she’d had the same idea or she was just smart enough to understand his wordless request, and she picked careful steps around Tony’s feet and walked right up to Steve. Gently, she nuzzled him as she had Tony, pushing her nose into his chest. She was much warmer than Steve expected, very alive despite the ethereal quality to her shine. To Steve’s surprise, the moment her horn rested against his shoulder, there was a sensation like a ringing in his ears and he could _hear_ her thinking. It wasn’t quite words, wasn’t quite pictures, but they were plainly her thoughts all the same, full of concern-Tony-determination, happiness-newness-Steve-resolve-helping. She was glad that Steve would help her take care of her stubborn human, he understood.

“Steve—“ Tony said, sounding like there wasn’t enough air.

"I always wanted it to mean something, you know? I didn’t want my first time to be just… something to do. To get it over with. I wanted it to be special, with somebody I cared about,” Steve told him. “Not to mention there was a war on. So no, I haven’t either.”

“I—“ Tony was taking quick, shallow breaths, looking lost for words. “I didn’t care. Wouldn’t’ve, I mean, I would’ve gone with anyone, but I then I went to high school as a kid, and nobody was about to… and then I was here, and everyone was the right age, but then _you_ were here and I liked you _so much_ and I felt like… It felt like it would’ve been… unfaithful. Even if I had no idea whether you wanted me back.”

“Tony,” Steve said, feeling himself smile. Maybe it wouldn’t mean quite the same thing to Tony as it did to him, but he would’ve been honored by that affection, that trust from Tony. Would’ve been delighted to plunge headfirst into something brand new and wonderful together. “I really appreciate that.”

“So when Friday showed up I figured it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like anything was happening soon,” Tony forged on. “And then you tried to kiss me and it _did_ matter—“

“It still doesn’t matter,” Steve insisted. “Like I told you before, I like you, you like me, and we’re not going to sleep together.”

“It’s not that simple,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Eventually you’re going to get tired of it, and you’re going to want something I can’t give you—or, or you’re going to want it and I _am_ going to give it to you and Friday won’t be able to talk to me anymore. I _need_ her, Steve, she’s like the Jarvis for this armor; she’s the one that makes it work, that keeps the power on. She’s the reason magic works for me at all. I _can’t_ lose her, and especially not while Kaecilius is still trying to blast holes in the quad.”

“I never said it was going to be easy,” Steve said. “But I think we can do it, if we really try. And I swear I’m never going to—to resent you or anything because of it.”

Tony looked—well, he looked like he was having even more trouble believing this than he’d had believing magic existed the first time Stephen Strange showed up. His eyes were wide and his fingers were clenching and unclenching at his side, as though a physical motion might help him grasp what Steve was trying to tell him. 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Tony,” Steve said very seriously, stepping right up to him and cupping his uninjured right cheek with one hand, making sure Tony was meeting his eyes. “I would do _anything_ for you. I mean that. But, you know, this isn’t just for you.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, looking equal parts puzzled and pleased as he leaned into Steve’s touch.

“Well, who says I can’t make friends with Friday, too?”

The unicorn in question came up close to them and rested her horn ever so carefully on the place where their skin touched, and the ringing sound of her thoughts returned, but this time it was _different_ , because Tony was there too. The touch of his mind was new and different, but he was _Tony_ and Steve would have known him in silence and darkness, and he knew him here in light as easy as breathing. There was a kind of frustration in him, thinking of being close with Steve romantically and never touching him, but it was buried underneath the tentative joy that came of knowing what Steve would do, or not do, for him—what they could be _together_. Steve just thought hard about how much he cared about Tony, and how it wasn’t even a sacrifice to do this, or anything, for Tony’s benefit. 

Underneath them both was the pleased strength of Friday, who was thinking about their misunderstandings in a tone that felt almost like sarcasm. At the same time, she seemed almost ecstatic that they were willing to do this just for the ability to speak with her. Steve got the feeling that she’d liked humans before who hadn’t been so attached to her in return, who hadn’t felt the need to speak with her the way Tony did. Ones who had valued their own selfish pleasures over her voice.

Steve traced his thumb in little circles over Tony’s cheek and the happiness of the touch sparked a thought in both of them at once; it was so good, so sweet, just being close to each other and knowing that they cared about each other, and they didn’t _need_ anything more, not really.

Yeah, they thought together. They were going to be fine.

 

*

 

They had movie dates, and dinner dates, and picnic dates in the part of the park _without_ the tentacle-infested fountain. They went driving together on Steve’s motorcycle, and flying together in the quinjet, and sometimes they even just flew arm-in-arm, Steve trusting to Tony’s gentle grip to keep him from falling.

Eventually, they kissed. Steve’s bike had just been parked in the garage after a long ride along the shore and the sun was just starting to go down when they stopped outside of Stark Tower. At first, Steve thought he was just going to drop Tony off home like he always did, sending him back to Jarvis and his bots for the night, but there was something different in the air. Something about it felt charged, almost alive, and Tony’s hand was hot in Steve’s.

“I had a really good time,” Steve told him sincerely. It was an understatement, really; he’d just spent over an hour with Tony pressed against his back as the salt air rushed past them, and he’d probably be taking a long, long shower in a few minutes.

“Yeah, me too,” Tony said, and there was a look in his eye that said he’d probably be doing the same thing. The idea started a shiver at the base of Steve’s spine, but he suppressed it. There was a breath of silence, and then Tony was surging up all at once, kissing Steve softly but urgently, like he’d been thinking about it for a long time; Steve knew that feeling very well. It felt like no time at all before the kiss had turned hard, wanting, desperate—it didn’t even feel like their first, it felt like their _only_ , the only chance they’d ever have to get this close, to taste and touch and feel their bodies held tight together, warm and rich with desire—

Steve was the first to pull back, to remember what they’d decided. What they’d promised, more like.

“Wow, Tony,” he panted. Words had deserted him.

“We’re gonna have to be careful with that,” Tony agreed. “ _God_. Best first kiss ever.”

“Absolutely,” Steve said. He leaned in again, carefully controlled, and pressed their lips together once more, and Tony pressed back sweetly. “There, now you’re my first second kiss.”

“I’m honored,” Tony said, and it didn’t sound like he was joking, at least not completely. “You’re my first kiss that meant something,” Tony offered, and Steve didn’t _need_ to be any of Tony’s firsts, but it was nice anyway. It felt like reciprocity.

“I’m honored too,” he said, smiling. “Let’s do it again sometime?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and he gave Steve a quick, affectionate hug before they parted ways for the night. Steve walked away with a spring in his step. The date had been lovely, more than lovely, a long ride and a long talk and that _kiss_ —Steve was liking Tony more all the time. Every minute, it felt like. He’d only been in love once, the excited wartime flash in the pan that he and Peggy had been, so he wasn’t sure how to be certain whether these feelings were love as well, but he wasn’t afraid.

Falling in love with Tony felt like any other precipice whose steep edge Steve had overlooked before: there was a swooping feeling in his stomach, and a soaring feeling in his heart.

Tony would catch him.

 

*

 

Kissing was—well, wonderful, really, and it seemed like the longer it went on the more wonderful it got. Once they started, it was hard to want to stop. It wasn’t long before Tony got fed up with cagey discussions and aborted movements, and he decided to make rules, and that turned out to help more than anything else.

If clothes were off for any reason, even just for a swim, they wouldn’t touch each other at all. As soon as they started pulling at clothes, they had to stop kissing. As soon as they stopped kissing, they had to separate, pause the date if not end it, because neither of them really trusted themselves if they didn’t. It was an unofficial rule that all kissing had to be saved until the end of the date, half because they didn’t want to end it, and half because of the sweet anticipation of knowing there was a kiss coming at some point, eventually, at the end of a deep conversation or a dinner or a movie.

And it got easier. They knew the rules, they practiced, and after a while they didn’t have to think about it nearly so much. Tony took Steve for a long flight over the water, just after the sun went down, and they both watched the stars coming out and glittering on the waves below and tried to pick out constellations for hours. When the night air started to cool off, Tony retracted his helmet and they kissed until the heavens around them were inside, too, perfection in its finished state, not waiting on anything more. And then, Steve drew back and just breathed into the chilly metal of Tony’s pauldron, and Tony flew him home and gave him a peck of a kiss goodnight.

Maintaining a sexless relationship wasn’t… it wasn’t _normal_ , Steve knew, or whatever passed for normal in this century—and it would hardly qualify for normal in the time Steve came from, either—but it didn’t need to be normal to be good. It was more than good, truthfully; it was perfect. Steve wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

*

 

Steve finished his daily marathon—for which Sam and Bucky mocked him incessantly—and left the track, heading back towards Stark Tower. He made it as far as the quad, only for Jarvis to ping his phone to let him know that Tony was out doing flight tests on an armor upgrade and wouldn’t be back down for a few hours yet. Steve turned around in place a few times, finding himself at loose ends, and then caught sight of the perpetual dimness that hovered over the haunted Mansion.

A sudden impulse became a decision, and Steve started jogging that way, skipping the sidewalk entirely and enjoying the coolness of the dewy grass on his ankles. It was a perfect afternoon, nice and cool, not yet too cold because of the Academy’s proximity to the water.

When he got to the Mansion, Steve hit upon the slight flaw in his plan: he wasn’t Tony. He had no intrinsic magical connection, artificial or otherwise, and he had very little faith in his ability to replicate the whistling call Tony had made, not knowing what it meant—since there was clearly a great deal of meaning encoded in the sound. So Steve decided to stick to the basics, and hope for the best.

“Friday?” he called. “Fri-day!”

There was an amused huffing sound right behind Steve, and he whirled around to find Friday there, leaning down and chewing grass slowly. He could’ve sworn she hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“How did you do that?”

Friday just made another sound that was almost a laugh and tossed her head in a way that was both literally and figuratively pointed. _Did you think I was a horse?_ she seemed to say. So she had a sense of humor, Steve thought, smiling.

"Are you busy right now?” Steve asked. Friday tilted her head inquisitively. “It’s just, if you’re not, I really did want to get to know you,” he explained. “It’s been really great—better than great—being with Tony, and I realized I haven’t seen you around much since he introduced us, except when he fights. Thank you for helping him, by the way. I’m really glad he has people looking out for him.”

With another toss of her mane, Friday stepped closer and lifted her head far enough to knock her horn against Steve’s arm, conveying a flash of amusement-contrariness-questioning through the contact.

“Hey, it’s not like I said _human_ ,” he protested. “And I’ve felt your mind, I’m _sure_ you’re a person.”

The next touch felt something like answer-gratitude-approval, and Steve realized she’d been testing him. Maybe she hadn’t really trusted his promise to Tony, or maybe she hadn’t trusted that it was made to _her_ , as well; either way, Steve figured he ought to set about proving himself. There were no words he could give her that she couldn’t get directly from his mind already, so the only real proof would be in actions. Well, he had plenty of time to spare, at least.

“What do you like to do?” Steve asked. He really didn’t know much about her, except that she was magical and connected to Tony.

There was a flash of confusion-introspection-Tony-specificity-solving-joy-satisfaction, which Steve took to mean that she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, but that she and Tony usually did math together. It was unexpectedly adorable.

“I don’t think I’m quite up to _that_ ,” he said. “I’m more of a punching things kind of guy.”

Skepticism-affection-chiding; Friday didn’t want Steve putting himself down.

“Uh. I’m a strategist,” he added, though he didn’t see how that could be helpful. “You want to draw up battle plans together?”

Organization-cleverness-planning-taking-winning. Now, there was an idea.

“Well, I think we could manage that,” Steve said, smiling at Friday.

 

*

 

Steve won the third game in a row, and Friday knocked over her own queen in frustration. She was brilliant—almost as brilliant as Tony, Steve had come to understand—but she was also a magical creature, and she had almost no experience with strategy games.

“I’m sure you’ll get it eventually,” Steve said innocently, smiling at her. Friday just huffed and flashed him annoyance-fondness-determination. “Okay, but just one more round. I’m meeting Tony for lunch.”

Friday’s horn glowed briefly and the pieces of the chessboard reset themselves, this time with the white pieces on Friday’s side. She looked up at him with something fierce in her dark, liquid eyes, daring him to question it, and Steve just put his hands up in playful surrender. Friday’s horn brushed Steve’s arm and told him readiness-impatience.

“Alright, go ahead then,” he said. “Just try to predict how I’m going to react— _without_ reading my mind this time, you cheater—“ Friday snorted indignantly— “and then use that to plan ahead…”

 

*

 

Steve and Tony were sitting side by side in the grass, looking up at the sky. They were closer to the timefog here, but further from the mind-bending alternate dimensions Stephen Strange had brought with him, and the stars were coming out clear and beautiful. The remains of their picnic were a few feet away, ignored as they looked up at the sky and clasped hands like the sappy romantics they were.

Friday was there too, because this had started out as more of a hangout than an actual date, but she was sitting just as quietly as they were, armor set aside and long legs folded up gracefully underneath her. Like horses, she couldn’t sit or lay down too long, but for a little while, it was nice to have all three of them on the grass like this, low down and feeling just how high the sky was above them.

It reminded Steve of flying—but then, most everything he did with Tony did that. When they were together it was like the ground dropped away and he was walking on air, heedless of everything but their closeness, and the feeling was getting stronger.

He really did love Tony.

Shock. It was unbelievable, amazing, almost too good to be true—could Steve really love him? Was it possible? Loving Steve was easy, he’d done it for what felt like forever, but Steve—

“Tony?” Steve turned to look at him, and he looked back, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Tony said softly. Friday was there too, in their minds, filled with pride-accomplishment-relief as she touched their hands and joined the two of them together, melted away the last barrier that had been between them. “Thanks, Fry,” Tony said, still quiet, his mind full of gratefulness and joy. Steve smiled, feeling the same, and stroked a few fingers through her forelock. She accepted their thanks gracefully and then withdrew, leaving them to each other for a moment.

“I really do love you,” Steve said aloud, leaning their foreheads together. It looked like there was a torrent of words trying to fight their way out of Tony’s mouth, but he managed to hold them back, and said only,

“I love you, too.”

And in the dark, under the wide open sky, they both felt like flying.

 

*

 

When Dormammu showed up, Tony pressed Steve’s hand like a promise before he went to face him alongside the other sorcerers. Friday watched them both, approving and determined, as she waited to lend Tony her strength in the fight. She had never doubted him, not for a second.

“You can do this,” Steve said to Tony, smiling. “I believe in you.”

“You know what?” Tony answered, “Me too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't get over the fact that Tony got a canonical PET UNICORN. I didn't want to spoil it in the beginning notes for people who didn't know (or didn't realize it would be relevant to this story) but GUYS. There's a unicorn and I love it <3 Naming her Friday is not canonical, but I do really enjoy Friday as a character, and snarky unicorns are the best unicorns :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story!


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